Firebird (8 page)

“I smile all the time. I’m perfectly happy. But I’m not going to act fake and schmooze and pretend to like your nasty friends.”

“Those friends can get you places—places you can’t get by yourself. Or are you depending on your other
friend
?” They both knew exactly who he meant. “Do you think he’s going to do anything for you once this is all done? I’m sure this is what he does, over and over. Picks a ballerina he likes. Uses her and loses her. Moves on when the inspiration is gone. You’re not sleeping with him, are you? Jesus, tell me you’re not.”

She looked up at her partner, then pushed him away. “Thanks for your concern and advice, but I don’t really need it. I know what you and your friends think of me. I know what people are saying. I don’t care. All I care about is getting this ballet perfect. So just partner me, Blake, and shut the fuck up.”

* * *

Jackson ground his teeth as the dancers began to file in for practice. He was still trying to erase the image of Blake leaning over his Prosper in the hallway.
His Prosper
. Was she his? Blake was no fool. He too probably sensed that a passionate creature lurked beneath Prosper’s demure exterior. It had been a punch in the gut, seeing them together. For all he knew, they’d been hooking up for weeks. It wasn’t unheard-of. It was quite common, actually, for romance to flower between ballet partners.

He groaned inwardly.
No
. He could bear not having her, but he couldn’t bear watching Blake paw at her in the halls.
No.

They entered separately. He watched them. They didn’t interact like people in a relationship. Of course he and Prosper didn’t interact like people in a relationship either. If Blake and Prosper were together, they’d hide it. The very idea of it filled him with rage, the idea of Blake’s hands all over her perfectly sculpted body, her sensitive flesh.

Focus.

It was the first day of rehearsals with the corps, so they were in the big practice room. Even so it felt crowded. He missed practicing alone with her, although it was easy enough to keep track of her among the other dancers. He just had to look for her hair. They worked on the second act, the frenetic dance when the Firebird drove Kostchei’s minions to dance until they died. In Fokine’s version, they didn’t die but only fell asleep. Jackson decided he wanted Prosper to leave behind a stage full of corpses. By the end of the ninety-minute rehearsal, the corps, who had never worked with Jackson before, feared his awful wrath. Any poor corps dancer who found himself out of step or not paying attention was the victim of a vicious harangue. But he was hardest on Prosper.

“Faster, faster!” He drove her, even when he knew she was doing her best. “Move your feet! You’re supposed to be flying!”

“Okay!”

“No. Like this…” He marked the beats with sharp claps, but she couldn’t match his tempo. He grew more frustrated, pounded the rhythm with his fist in his palm.

“I’m trying!” She fell off pointe and spun on him. “What else do you want from me? I’m giving you my best, everything I have! If it’s not good enough for you—” She threw her arms up and stalked away to lean against the barre.

He blew out his breath and looked around at the corps. All of them watching.

“Okay. Enough for today. Thank you. We’ll pick up here tomorrow.”

The dancers left quickly, not waiting around to socialize or deconstruct the rehearsal with their friends. They scattered like roaches under a spotlight.

All of them but her.

He grabbed his dance book and his bag and headed to the door to find her standing alone there in the corner, glaring at him. It was a private place to stand, a place the other dancers couldn’t see even looking in windows. He closed the door and turned to her.

“Very professional.”

“Right back at you, fucker.”

“Are you seeing him?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

“Who?” The confusion on her face made the knot inside him relax. She wasn’t capable of subterfuge.

“Blake,” he said anyway. “Tell me the truth.”

“No, of course I’m not seeing him.” She shook her head and turned away, shouldering her dance bag. His hand closed around her arm. “Let go of me,” she said tightly.

He released her and bowed his head to hers. “Okay. For now. But I will touch you eventually. And you won’t be the one giving orders then.” He held himself a body’s width apart from her. “They’re watching, Prosper. Always. You wanted discretion.”

“I know. And I don’t care. I don’t. I don’t have time for this anyway. For you. To see you. So I don’t care—I’m busy, and I’m concentrating on this ballet, so—” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I mean, whatever. If you’re over it, I don’t care—”

“You think I’m over it? Because I want to work and not play flirty goo-goo eyes with you? We agreed, you and I, that we would not bring it here. You seemed very relieved when I suggested it, if I remember correctly. You’re my dancer here. Not my girlfriend, not my—” He fell silent.

“Fuck buddy?” she supplied in a voice edged with sarcasm.

“Okay,” he said. “Just take some deep breaths.”

“I don’t want to take deep breaths! I don’t want you to tell me what to do.”

“I think you do want it. You’re just upset because you think I’m pushing you away.” He dropped his voice lower. “The truth is, I wish I could take you in my arms right now. I wish I could rip that fucking leotard off you and take you to the floor, and I can’t even put into words what I’d like to do to you then.”

She didn’t look at him, but she was suddenly taking those deep breaths he’d urged her to take.

“Believe me, Prosper, I find this just as awful as you do. But we will not bring this here again. We can’t work and keep our places in this company if the nature of our relationship was exposed. And yes, little one”—he leaned closer—“we do have a relationship, you and me. Fuck buddy doesn’t quite describe it.”

She didn’t speak for a long while.

He couldn’t read her. “Are you okay?”

She let out a sharp little breath. “Yes. I’m okay. I’m a little…” She fell silent.

“Angry? Confused? Scared?”

“Horny. Can I touch myself tonight?”

He blinked and chuckled. Not what he’d expected. “‘
May
I touch myself,
Sir
?’ would be a better way to ask.”

“May I touch myself, Sir?” Her barely concealed pique made his cock twitch.

“No. Absolutely not. You can only come when I make you come.”

“But—”

“But what?”

“That’s not fair to get me all worked up and then not let me relieve myself!”

“Life’s not fair, girl. Not for subs like you. Here. Give me your cell phone.”

She dug in her bag and got it out. He programmed his number into it, then handed it back to her.

“If it gets too hard not to touch yourself, you’re welcome to call me and beg. Not that it will do any good.”

Prosper tsk-tsked in annoyance, clearly not finding the situation as amusing as he did. She dug her toes into the floor. “It’s just hard not to come when I feel so…so…”

“Horny?”

“Yes. I mean, you
are
going to have sex with me?”

“You bet your fucking feathers I am, Firebird. Soon.”

“Well, um…when?” She looked ridiculously adorable begging him for sex.

“How about tonight?”

“I have to work tonight.”

“Oh yes, your second job. Where?”

“At Halo. That bar.”

He hated the idea of her working in a skin bar like Halo, not that it was any of his business.

“I’m not working tomorrow night,” she said.

Tomorrow night
. He was going to fuck her to pieces.

“Fine,” he said. “Tomorrow night after the show. At my place.”

Chapter Seven

Wednesday night she climbed into a cab wearing the clothing he’d instructed her to. Tight black dress with a gartered corset and stockings under it, no panties. Yeah. She was a slut.

But she was an excited slut. She shifted on the backseat of the cab, already growing damp between her legs. It wasn’t just the way she was dressed. It was the knowledge that she was going to Jackson’s home to have
sex
. They’d made a date. For sex. Arrangements to fuck. It was so hedonistic. He wanted to penetrate her, touch her in all her most private places. And she desperately wanted to be touched by him.

She pressed her legs together, watching the people out on the street. She wanted to roll down the window and shout out her happiness. Finally everything was coming together for her. She had her part-time job nailed down, and just that morning she’d finally located a studio apartment she could rent week to week for a reasonable rate. And now she was on the way to Jackson’s house for
sex
. He was going to put his hands on her, press his hard, powerful body against hers. He was going to penetrate her with the cock she’d seen straining in his pants, the cock she couldn’t stop obsessing about.
Oh my God
. She arrived five minutes early and sat in the cab a full minute or two just gathering her nerves.

“Everything all right?” the driver asked.

“Everything’s great.” She handed him the money Jackson had given her for the short cab ride. “
Take a cab. I don’t want you walking without panties after dark
.” It was a generous tip, and the driver thanked her, then got out to open her door. As she stepped out in her tight dress, cold air blew up to caress her naked flesh. She shivered and ran up the stairs, then pressed the buzzer for Jackson’s townhome.

The door swung open, and there he was. He pulled her inside, no words, no smile. He pushed her back against the door as it closed and locked the dead bolt with a sharp
click
. Her indrawn breath sounded loud in the silence of his home. The lights were low, and his face as she looked up at it was shadowed. Without preamble, he stuck his hand up her dress. He felt the top of her stockings, the garters. His hand cupped her naked sex, and then he bent down and kissed her forehead.

“Good girl.”

She was so hot, so wet. His fingers grazed her, felt the slick nectar there. He wanted to thrust his fingers up inside her until she went up on her toes, but he wasn’t going to maul her thirty seconds in. No. He wouldn’t maul her yet.

His face was inches from hers. She looked up at him with a wide-eyed gaze that made his erection throb. He leaned against her so she could feel it against her belly. She quivered like a spooked sparrow trapped between him and the wall. He was her cage. He held her captured and still; she didn’t make the smallest attempt to get away. But what would he do with her now? The possibilities were endless. There were so many things he wanted to do to her that he didn’t know where to begin.

So he held her trapped there while he grasped for control. He could feel the heat radiating from her. He wanted to push her to the floor, yank her dress up. Force himself inside, ride her hard. What would she do? How would she react? Would she struggle and pull away? Would she spread her thighs wider, let him sink in where he so desperately wanted to be? What kind of sounds would she make? Squeaks of fear, guttural moans? Urgent gasps?

“I want to fuck you, Prosper.”

Okay. Not exactly a love sonnet. She swallowed, took a shuddery breath.

“I want to fuck you,” he repeated. “I need sex from you.”

“Okay. I just better warn you, though, I’m not that good at sex.”

“Aren’t you?” The very idea was ridiculous, but she seemed to believe it. “Are you at least good at sucking cock?”

His words brought an instant flush to her cheeks.

“I’m…I’m terrible at it…Sir.”

A moment of utter silence. Then he laughed.

“Honest to a fault. Your name should be Honesty, not Prosperity. So you’re not good in bed at all?”

Prosper bit her lip, then shook her head.

“One more head shake and I’ll spank your ass until it’s black-and-blue.” He took her chin hard in his hand, tilting her face up. “Your skill in bed aside, do you want me? Are you hot for me? Are you wet?”

She nodded, then remembered and spit out a “yes, Sir,” but he was already propelling her toward the couch. Her gasp was muffled by the cushions as he bent her over the arm. He yanked up the skirt of her dress, then tore off his belt and doubled it over in his hand. She squealed and jerked as the first blow landed.

“I’m sorry! Ow! I forgot!”

She kicked her legs as he brought the leather belt down on her ass again. Her distressed yelps and jerks excited the sadist in him. Her ass cheeks clenched, and she tried to twist away from the pain. Three vivid stripes of red. He drew back and landed a fourth stroke on her gorgeous bottom.

“Please! Please, Sir—” He noted her distress but continued the punishment with a couple more heavily placed blows. Even without her head-shaking issues, he would have spanked her before he fucked her. She would be in the space he wanted that way, the submissive, pain-evasive state where she would do whatever he asked.

“Hush. Keep the noise down,” he said as her sobs and wails escalated. “I’ll gag you if you don’t.”

She buried her face in the cushions and made muffled keening sounds that aroused him so much he gave her four more licks instead of two. When her bottom looked sufficiently red, he dropped the belt on the sofa cushion next to her face.

“Kiss it, and thank me for correcting you.”

She did as she was told, sniffling and snuffling. He released her and pulled her upright. Her small body quailed in his hands, made him feel even more powerful and drunk with lust.

“Now I want you to look at me and tell me exactly what you’re feeling. Take a moment if you need time to figure out what to say.”

“I feel sorry. And punished.” Her fingers toyed with the skirt of her dress, still pulled up around her waist. “I feel scared of you a little. That really hurt.”

“It was supposed to hurt. And you’re supposed to be a little scared of me. It’s best that way, isn’t it?”

His fingers trailed up to find the zipper on the back of her dress. He drew it down and took the dress off her, so she stood before him in her corset and stockings. He turned her around, admiring her. The sight of her spanked ass and naked pussy drew him with a magnetic pull. His fingers slipped between her legs, probed her there. He felt slight resistance and tightened his grip on her. He sighed as he discovered the hot moisture within her folds.